


Utterly Yours

by lazywonderland



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Auror Harry, Bottom Draco, Draco Malfoy POV, Herbology Professor Draco, Jealousy, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Top Harry, just some angst as usual
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-21
Updated: 2020-09-21
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:28:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26572972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lazywonderland/pseuds/lazywonderland
Summary: Draco gets back at Harry for his late nights as an Auror by flirting with the new Arithmancy professor. Harry's not usually the jealous type, but he has his moments.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 41
Kudos: 1462





	Utterly Yours

**Author's Note:**

> This came from a prompt asking for jealous!Harry and Draco as a Herbology professor, which is the softest thing I've ever heard of. Enjoy! ♡

i.

  
  
  


It didn’t matter how many years passed since Harry got rid of the Dark Lord, or how long it had been since any _real_ Death Eaters were captured and put behind bars — every few years like clockwork some neo-Death Eater faction would pop up and cause trouble until the Ministry put a stop to it, usually with Harry in charge. He wasn’t even Head Auror (although at just twenty-nine years old he was well on his way) but he invariably led those missions. Perhaps because he managed to get it done so efficiently.

It was annoying to Draco not only because his students often liked to press him for details even though he had _none_ , but because they were always Harry’s busiest cases and they usually lost a good chunk of their time together.

Not even two full months into the current school year there had been reports of some dodgy goings-on in Hogsmeade. All this meant to Draco was that students could talk of little else as the investigation proceeded, and that when he Apparated home at the end of the day Harry was usually still working. 

“Professor,” said one of the second-year Gryffindors in an afternoon lesson, voice rising above the commotion of the rest of the class who were washing their hands and cleaning their stations. Always the part of the lesson when accidents were most likely to happen, Draco was paying much more attention to overseeing the clean-up than the speaking student.

“What is it, Pepperidge?” he said distractedly. And, sharply, to another student, “Don’t touch that with your bare hands unless you fancy a visit to the hospital wing, Miss Smethwyck!”

“Professor,” the Gryffindor boy said again, more urgently, “Harry Potter’s outside the greenhouse.”

At this, most of the class stopped what they were doing to look, including Draco. He blinked owlishly at Harry, whose eyebrows had lifted in surprise at all the sudden attention.

“What —?” Draco said ineloquently, frowning now. “All right, everyone, just … finish putting your things away and you’re dismissed. And don’t forget to replace the gloves in the box!”

The cleaning-up recommenced but everyone was still stealing curious glances at Harry, which made it take twice as long as it should have, as well as creating a minor roadblock at the door when people kept stopping to say hi or blatantly ogle him on their way out.

“ _How_ a person can be so disruptive,” said Draco when the greenhouse was cleared out and Harry stepped inside.

“I was only standing there!” Harry argued.

“Which you know perfectly well is disruptive when it’s you,” said Draco. Harry opened his mouth to retort but Draco cut him off: “What are you doing here?”

“I came to see you, obviously.”

“No,” said Draco, rolling his eyes even though he felt very pleased with that answer, “at _Hogwarts_. I thought you were up to your ears in work.”

“Some loony in the village claims they saw a ‘suspicious figure’ heading up towards the school last night,” Harry said offhandedly, leaning back against one of the workstations and grinning at Draco. “You know, you have dirt on your face.”

Scowling, Draco rubbed an arm across his cheek.

“So, what,” he said, “you believe them? I thought you said you’d figured out where that group in Hogsmeade was hiding.”

“Yeah, we have.” Harry reached over and swept his thumb across the opposite cheek Draco had rubbed with his arm, making Draco roll his eyes again. “We’re still tracking their movements, though, before we make a bust and technically I can’t ignore a witness who says they saw something. Especially if it’s to do with the school — parents will go berserk when that gets out.”

“ _If_ it gets out.”

“Oh, it will,” said Harry darkly.

“And you think that ‘suspicious figure’ might be hiding out in greenhouse one, do you?”

Harry snorted. “Well it’s possible,” he said, smirking. “It seemed worth checking out.”

“You can’t just interrupt my lessons, Potter,” said Draco, slipping off his gloves and going to the box to set them down in it on top of the others. It was a haphazard mess, but that was what he got for teaching children.

“I’m in charge of the investigation,” said Harry, following Draco and sliding his hands onto his hips from behind. “So you’ll find I can do pretty much whatever I want, actually.”

Draco made a clicking sound of disgust with his tongue but didn’t try to move away, even when Harry pressed a kiss to the back of his neck.

“Your power trips aren’t cute, you know.”

Suddenly Harry’s hand dipped lower and he cupped Draco’s cock through his robes — half hard from the ministrations to his neck — and elicited a sharp gasp.

“You like it well enough,” Harry said cheekily and pulled away. Draco, though flustered, recovered quickly and turned to shove Harry’s shoulder, sending him stumbling back a few steps even as he laughed.

“I have another lesson to get ready for,” Draco snapped. “So if you wouldn’t mind buggering off and, I don’t know, _doing your job_ , I don’t really have time for your endlessly wandering hands at the moment.”

“Fine, fine,” Harry droned, lifting his hands in a completely sarcastic show of acquiescence. “I have to go talk to McGonagall anyway.”

“You do that.”

“I’m gonna try to be home early tonight if I can, do you wanna do dinner?”

Draco clenched his jaw. “I hate when you make plans with me when you know it’s more than likely you’ll have to cancel,” he said as he started around the workstations, collecting tools and gloves that hadn’t been put away and not looking at Harry. He could hear the bitterness in his voice and hated it — it wasn’t Harry’s fault, he knew that. And normally it wasn’t _this_ bad; the speculated Death Eater activity in Hogsmeade had kept him unusually busy the past month and a half and Draco was missing him something fierce, that was all.

He regretted saying it when he looked up and caught sight of the very real hurt on Harry’s face.

“I only cancel when I have to,” said Harry. God, he was so _earnest_. “Are you really upset?”

Draco lifted a hand to rub his eye and remembered he had dirt all over them in spite of having been wearing gloves, then dropped it with a sigh.

“I’m just —” he started, but cut off when he saw a large group of Ravenclaws nearing the greenhouse door for the next lesson. Harry turned to look and raised a hand to the back of his head, rubbing his hair.

“I really will try to be home early,” he said, looking at Draco again.

“It’s fine, Harry,” Draco said quietly. “I’ll see you tonight.”

The Ravenclaws poured in through the door, looking interestedly at Harry, but as they were older students they at least managed to contain their curiosity a little better. Harry glanced at him one last time before leaving, and Draco tore his eyes away to address the class before Harry had even made it up to the front doors of the school.

  
  
  


ii.

  
  
  


As it happened, he didn’t see Harry that night. He looked ready to die of shame when he Flooed from his office at the Ministry to say he was going to be late again, and even though Draco had expected it, some part of his stupid brain had convinced itself Harry would be absolutely _sure_ he made it home early tonight after the incident in the greenhouse.

He was already asleep when Harry came home and had to leave before he woke up the next morning, and when the same thing happened the next night Draco reached the weekend in a thoroughly foul mood. He spent all of Saturday rebuffing attempts to make it up to him until Harry was called into work just before dinner, leaving Draco to Vanish the whole thing without eating out of spite.

Lonely as Harry’s Auror work often left him feeling, especially during cases like this, it had never occurred to Draco to find what he was missing somewhere else. Nobody else could have given it to him anyway, that was the first issue; the second was that he was brutally in love with Harry and not even a year’s worth of lonely nights could have convinced him to jeapordise that.

Still, over the next week he found himself flirting — _harmlessly —_ with Adrian Fishbrook, the new Arithmancy professor McGonagall had hired just this year. The two of them were by far the youngest members of staff, Draco at twenty-nine and Adrian only a few years on from thirty, and maybe he didn’t have that stupid boyish charm that Harry possessed but he was cute in his own way, and Draco had developed a sneaking suspicion that Adrian had a bit of a crush on him. Certainly nothing he’d ever act on — everyone knew he and Harry were together and Adrian was too much of a gentleman — but a sweet and fairly obvious crush nevertheless.

“Draco,” he said on Monday morning, catching up to him outside the Great Hall before Draco headed out through the front doors. Students milled about, paying them no mind. “Had a good weekend?”

Draco shrugged but found a smile for him. “The usual,” he said evasively. Adrian seemed not to pick up on anything because he grinned sympathetically. “You?”

“Well it wasn’t boring,” he said with a laugh. “My brother got mixed up in some stupid pub fight and wound up with a pair of antlers that won’t go away. Refuses to go to Mungo’s, he’s mortified — I was wondering, d’you have any Moly plants at the moment? Only thing I can think of to help.”

“ _Antlers_ , hm?” Draco repeated, grinning as well. “I don’t suppose you could leave him that way as a reminder not to get in pub fights?”

“Oh, believe me, I considered it,” Adrian laughed. “Only my sister-in-law’s going ballistic and I feel sort of bad.”

“Well she’s in luck,” said Draco, starting towards the front doors, which Adrian darted ahead to open for him. “I’ve got a few of them I’m working on with the NEWT students, I think I can spare a few flowers. No guarantee it’ll work, though.”

“Oh, that’s all right,” Adrian said, waving the disclaimer away. “I can say I tried, at least.”

He took Adrian into greenhouse three, and while he was trimming a small pile of flowers off one of the Moly plants he heard the door open and turned, eyebrows lifted, to see Harry walking in. There was a frown on his face and in the crease of his brow. Someone else might not have been able to see the extremely veiled suspicion in his eyes but Draco saw it just fine.

In fact, he was _glad_ to see it, savagely so. Served him right.

“Potter!” said Adrian, eyes bugging. Draco rolled his and looked away, back at the plant.

“Er — hi,” said Harry. “Sorry, do I … do I know you?”

“No, no, I’m sorry, my name’s Adrian, Adrian Fishbrook, I’m the new Arithmancy professor,” he said, holding a hand out which Harry took with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “It’s really good to meet you. How’s the investigation going, down in Hogsmeade?”

“It’s, erm — yeah, it’s fine.” He sounded distracted, like he was trying to have a normal-sounding conversation while simultaneously attempting to solve a very complicated mystery without anyone realising what he was doing. “You’re … you said you’re the new Arithmancy professor? What happened to Vector?”

“Died,” said Draco.

“ _What_?”

“She didn’t _die_ ,” Adrian laughed, and Draco couldn’t help snorting. “She retired, that’s all.”

“Here you go, Adrian,” said Draco, scooping up the flowers, stuffing them into a small, airtight container, and handing it over. “Try two petals, if it doesn’t work two more, and so on. It really just depends how competent the caster was — the more highly skilled, the less likely it’ll counteract it.”

“Right, yeah,” said Adrian, taking it from him with shining eyes. “Well it was some bloke getting in pub fights, so …”

“That’s true,” Draco allowed, “you might be in luck, then.”

“Thanks, I really appreciate it. I’ll see you later — nice to meet you, Potter,” he added to Harry, and then left. Harry watched him go and then turned to Draco, looking irritated.

“You didn’t tell me there was a new Arithmancy professor.”

“Why would I alert you to staff changes?” Draco said mildly as he went about cleaning up and replacing the plant.

“I dunno,” said Harry stubbornly, sounding more like his fifteen-year-old self than a decorated Auror, “because he’s …”

After a moment and then another passed and no adjective was given, Draco looked at him, eyebrows raised. Oh, yes, he thought with grim satisfaction. This was perfect.

“Because he’s …?” Draco echoed. “What?”

“You know …” Harry gestured vaguely with his hand.

“No, actually, I don’t,” Draco said airily, smirking when Harry frowned. “Young? Handsome?”

“He fancies you,” he said finally. Draco laughed.

“And how, pray tell, could you have picked up on _that_ from the minute and a half you spent in his presence?”

“You can play Devil’s Advocate if you want,” Harry said calmly, making Draco arch a brow. The truth was, he wasn’t an Auror for nothing — he was an extremely perceptive person. And after years on the job, he was now able to read body language so well Draco often felt like he couldn’t have lied about anything even if he’d wanted to, because Harry would see right through it in a second. “You know he does.”

Draco began setting empty pots around the workstations in preparation for his first class, trying his hardest to remain casual and not to let his gaze wander to Harry.

“And?” he said mildly. “Maybe he does — is that a punishable crime?”

Harry said nothing, and when Draco finally set the last pot down and allowed himself to look, he saw that Harry’s expression was uncharacteristically difficult to read. It sent a shiver up Draco’s spine — this, he thought, was probably closer to the Auror Potter criminals were used to seeing.

Behind him, through the open greenhouse doors, he saw a troupe of Gryffindors marching down the lawns.

“My first lesson is about to start,” he said, resolving the thick silence. 

“Right,” said Harry. Draco could almost see it as Harry packed away anything he’d been on the verge of saying and his unusually impassive expression made it impossible to know what those things might have been. “I’ll Floo tonight if I’ll be home late,” he said, and he left before the students could begin filing in.

  
  
  


iii.

  
  
  


Draco intentionally went to bed early every night the next few days, so even if Harry did get home at a somewhat reasonable hour he was already tucked away, precluding the possibility of sex. Normally if Harry was feeling randy it wouldn’t matter, he’d get into bed and his warm hands would coerce Draco from his light sleep just enough to engage properly in a lazy fuck before they both passed out for good, only he didn’t do that this week. And though Draco was _aching_ for something, he stubbornly pretended not to be.

He wasn’t angry at Harry, per se. He realised he was being a bit of a child about it, getting fussy because Harry’s attention was needed elsewhere at the moment and _especially_ because Harry had had the nerve to see right through him and point out the obvious flirtations between himself and Adrian. But he couldn’t help it — he was tetchy from a lack of sex and attention and it felt good to be petulant.

It also felt good to dangle Adrian in front of Harry each time he came up to the school the following week, which was frequently. The students, of course, were delighted, and it was to Draco’s immense irritation that Fernsby, the Defence professor, asked him if he might convince Harry to pop in on one of his fifth-year lessons to talk about the Unforgivables. He didn’t need to ask to know this was something Harry would dread doing, which was perhaps why Draco assured Fernsby he would bring it up when he saw him next.

That happened to be that very same Thursday evening. The students were all at dinner and Adrian had come to see Draco in his office, harbouring this time under the excuse that he wanted to tell him about how his brother had gotten into another spot of trouble and used the extra flowers from the Moly plant to reduce the swelling of his head, which had been jinxed to expand to three or four times its normal size. (Which, Adrian told him with a charming little laugh, reflected the size of his ego much better.)

That was when Harry walked in. Draco leaning back against his desk, eyes bright, laughing. And Adrian, a little bit too close, a hand on the edge of the desk and creeping closer. He wouldn’t have done anything — Draco was _almost_ sure of it — but Harry didn’t know that, not really. So Draco didn’t really blame him for the way his eyes flashed and his jaw clenched and his whole posture stiffened.

“Hi,” he said. Such a short, simple word to be infused with so much thunder. Adrian stopped laughing instantly and whipped his head around to look at Harry, framed imposingly in the doorway with his Auror robes and slightly damp hair and hard expression.

“Potter!” he said, lurching away from the desk and sounding both pleased and nervous, which Draco took to mean he was perfectly aware he'd been on the verge of overstepping a delicate boundary. “Just telling Draco how that Moly plant helped my brother yet again.”

“Could you excuse us, please?” Harry said without preamble. Draco stared at him, a flash of something hot and tight low in his belly. Whatever vague, ill-formed plan he’d had, whatever he’d been half-consciously hoping to accomplish by flirting with someone else and denying Harry affection the last two weeks, it had worked.

“Of course,” said Adrian. “I should be getting back to my office anyway, loads of homework to mark. Good seeing you again, Potter.”

Harry said nothing. He was usually so polite, so well-mannered, so genuinely diplomatic even when it came to people Draco knew he disliked. There was none of that now as he silently watched Adrian leave, shut the door behind him with a quiet _snick_ , and turned to Draco.

He continued saying nothing, and Draco, feeling annoyingly off his footing, crossed his arms.

“Fernsby wants you to give a presentation,” he said. “For one of his fifth-year classes. Something about the Unforgivables. I told him you’d be delighted.”

Harry’s eyebrows raised. “You did, did you?”

“Yeah,” Draco said defiantly. He’d expected … _more_. More obvious irritation at his audacity, at the fact that Harry would now _have_ to do it or risk looking like an arsehole. “I said you’re always happy to do guest lectures. That as far as your passions go it’s second only to playing hero.”

He’d said none of that, of course, and he knew Harry wouldn’t have believed it even if he hadn’t been able to read his body language. He was only saying it to be petty, because he was feeling irritable and needy and if there was anything that had ever satisfied him, it was poking and prodding at _Potter_ until he snapped. 

Harry closed the distance between them unhurriedly, something about his whole countenance forbidding. Draco stood his ground, frowning belligerently even as Harry stopped in front of him, close enough that Draco could smell the rain drying in his hair and on his robes, could see the little flecks of an even deeper green in his eyes, and more importantly, the slight dilation of his pupils.

“What is it exactly you’re trying to do?” he said. His voice was low, a little dangerous, covering Draco’s arms in goosebumps. “Call me crazy but lately it’s feeling a bit like we’re teenagers again, isn’t it?”

“Maybe that’s because you’ve been back at the school so often,” said Draco, trying for an airy, dismissive tone and falling flat. Instead he sounded breathless and sulky.

“Or maybe,” said Harry, coming closer still and bringing their faces within inches of each other, so he could surely feel Draco’s increased breathing, “it’s because you’ve been acting like such a little fucking brat.”

Draco, losing himself entirely, moved forwards to kiss him and was both confused and mortified when Harry drew back.

“No, I don’t think so,” Harry said almost casually. “Turn around.”

Draco gaped at him.

“... _What_?”

“Turn around,” Harry said again, some measure of annoyance leaking into his voice this time. Draco was completely speechless. “Hands on the desk.”

“What?” he said again.

“Turn the fuck around, Draco,” said Harry, sounding not angry but exasperated. Draco, blinking, already half-hard, resisted only a few more seconds before turning slowly on the spot and placing his hands on the desk. His cheeks burned with a potent mixture of humiliation and arousal. Harry rarely got this worked up — he had before once or twice, and Draco remembered those times particularly well because of the way he hadn’t been able to sit properly the next few days.

There was silence, and then suddenly Draco found every last article of his clothing gone. He gasped at the chill and took his hands off the desk out of nothing more than surprise.

“ _Hands on the desk_ ,” Harry said again, and, squeezing his eyes shut, Draco complied. “Don’t take them off.”

One of his hands, warm and calloused, fell to Draco’s back, stroking the skin with teasing grazes. 

“Have you been having fun with Fishbrook?” he asked. He was all forced-calm, a river building behind a dam. 

“Harry —” 

“Just a yes or no,” Harry cut him off. He rested his other hand on Draco’s waist, skating them both over his skin with a soft whispering sound until he was gripping Draco’s arse cheeks and spreading them open, filling his face with heat.

“No,” Draco croaked. His fingers curled uselessly against the wood of his desk.

“No, you haven’t been having fun?”

Draco shook his head. Harry’s fingers dipped between his cheeks and rubbed over his hole, which clenched under his touch.

“Seems like you were,” he said mildly. 

He slid his middle finger in all the way to the knuckle and Draco dropped to his elbows, pressing his forehead against the desk. It was completely obscene for this to be happening _in his office_ , while Harry was on the job no less, but god, he was _starved_ for it.

“It’s all right, Draco,” said Harry, finger moving slickly in and out of his flexing hole, his other hand a steady weight on Draco’s lower back. Eyes closed, smelling his own sweat and the rich woody scent of his desk, Draco bit back a moan as Harry’s finger brushed once, carelessly, over his prostate. “I know you’ve been feeling so neglected lately, what with me doing my fucking _job_ and all. You just wanted some attention, right?”

“Harry,” Draco tried again weakly, “I wasn’t —”

“You weren’t what?” Harry said over him. His voice wasn’t harsh or angry but rather mocking, as if he found Draco’s pathetic attempts to explain himself amusing. He slipped a second finger inside and Draco whimpered into his desk, fingers again trying to curl pointlessly against the wood. “You weren’t gonna fuck him?”

“I wasn’t flirting with him!” Draco cried, choking on a gasp when Harry’s fingers found his prostate yet again, giving it a firm rub before resuming their slow fucking. He felt about ten seconds away from slipping into insanity, ready to tear his hair out if something didn’t give — and at the same time he was still clinging to an awareness of his surroundings, of the fact that the door wasn’t even locked and nor was it sound-proofed.

“Are you lying because you feel bad about it?” asked Harry, the hand on Draco’s back moving to curl around his waist. “Or because you think it’ll keep my attention longer? I’m gonna fuck you either way, Draco, you can quit being a brat.”

“I’m not —!” Draco started furiously, only he broke off because he simply couldn’t string more than a few words together right now, let alone be witty about it. “Fuck — _fuck_ you, Potter!”

Harry laughed and it sent a chill up Draco’s spine.

“Yeah, you too, _Malfoy_.”

He pulled his fingers out and Draco pressed his forehead to the desk again, trying to bring his breathing back around to something more normal in spite of the frantic way his heart was pounding.

“Maybe it is the school,” said Harry conversationally. Draco could hear him opening his robes and unzipping his flies and a moment later he felt Harry’s prick, hot and stiff, dragging against his arse. Then there were fingers again, only this time they were slicked with lube when Harry pressed three of them unceremoniously inside, making Draco whimper. “Being back here together, I mean,” Harry added. His fingers curled and scissored inside him, stretching him open and slicking him up, and when he pulled out and fisted his cock a few times Draco could feel the movement, feel his knuckles moving, before he pressed the head to Draco’s hole and started sinking inside.

Draco squeezed his eyes shut and let out a low, broken moan. It had been two weeks since the last time Harry had fucked him … his own doing, of course.

“Maybe we’re bound to fight when we’re here,” Harry went on, though Draco was satisfied to hear that his voice sounded tighter. His hands were on Draco’s waist again, holding him steady while he filled him one relentless inch at a time. “I do think you could have been nicer to me lately, though, don’t you?”

He seated himself fully and now his hands wandered with a terrible gentleness over Draco’s back, slick fingers stroking delicately across his skin, dipping across the dimples above his arse Harry often spent an annoying amount of time kissing, treading lightly over the knobs of his spine. He didn’t need to see them to know how Harry’s eyes looked right now, dark with lust but still eerily luminous, advertising with an almost savage pride every emotion he was feeling and then some. He was not generally a possessive person — he was too immovably sure of himself to fall victim to such loud displays of insecurity — but all the same Draco knew, were he to look, he would see now a furious, possessive jealousy burning in those poignant green eyes.

And he liked that just fine.

“Delicate feelings for an Auror,” said Draco. His voice was weak and breathy but he still got an especially hard thrust for his cheek, rocking him violently against his desk. Harry stayed buried inside him, unmoving, and Draco wanted to yell at him to move but bit back the urge.

“And you’ve been remarkably abstinent,” said Harry, “for someone who’s usually gagging for it by the time I get home every night.”

Draco let out a weak, shaky laugh. His prick throbbed, hovering just above the desk.

“Well I’ve been getting my fill from Adrian, haven’t I?”

Harry’s hands tightened on his waist but he didn’t say anything to that. A little surprised, Draco looked over his shoulder finally and saw something that startled him: Harry was jealous, yes, but it was more than that. He looked, beneath it, a little uncertain, a little afraid, and it made Draco’s stomach twist suddenly with guilt.

“Harry …” he said softly, meeting his eyes. “I would _never_ …”

He watched Harry’s throat work as he swallowed.

“You’d never what?”

Draco opened his mouth, but Harry pulled out suddenly and pressed back in, and instead Draco let out a soft moan, bracing himself again on the desk.

“You’d never _what_?” Harry said again, something low and dangerous in his voice. Draco shivered.

“Cheat on you,” he said breathlessly. He dropped his forehead to the desk again, eyes closed as Harry started fucking him in earnest. “I’d never — I’d _never_ cheat on you ...”

“Why?” Harry demanded, through what sounded like gritted teeth. One of his hands moved to Draco’s shoulder, pulling him back onto his cock to meet every thrust. “Tell me why not.”

But through the savage pounding Draco could barely get out a coherent word, managing only a garbled “ _yours_ ” against his fist where he had it pressed against his mouth, trying to stifle the worst of his helpless noises.

Harry slowed his hips then, panting and dragging his cock leisurely through Draco’s sensitive channel while he tried to catch his breath. “What was that?”

Draco dropped his hand back to the desk and steadied himself against it, feeling a bead of sweat trickle down his temple. He could imagine everyone in the Great Hall right now eating dinner, his absence utterly normal this time of night, not one of them knowing their big glorious saviour had him bent over his own desk a floor above them.

“I said,” Draco uttered a little shakily, “that I’m _yours_.”

Harry pulled out and Draco closed his eyes, focusing on not making a sound. There were lips on the small of his back, his spine, and then an arm winding around his chest hauled him up until he could feel Harry’s breath, warm and damp, on the back of his neck.

“Yeah, you are,” he said softly. His other hand travelled slowly down over Draco’s belly, inching across the highly sensitive skin just above the line of his neatly-trimmed pubic hair, finally curling around Draco’s straining cock and stroking once, squeezing over the head. Draco clutched at Harry’s arms. “You’re mine.”

Draco’s eyes fell closed and again a shiver coursed through him. It sounded possessive, the way he said the word. It even sounded desperate, something he could only remember hearing in Harry’s voice once or twice. Draco wondered for the first time exactly how much stress he’d unintentionally been putting Harry under the last week he’d been denying him so much as a kiss on the cheek, let alone sex, just to be _petty_. For a person who’d grown up completely touch-starved thanks to his Muggle family (for whom Draco bore an impassioned hatred), Harry was highly physical in the way he showed affection.

Perhaps, Draco thought, that wasn’t a coincidence.

“I’m yours,” he repeated, nails digging into Harry’s arm when he squeezed over his cock again.

Harry nosed at his hair at the base of his neck, lips brushing delicate as a rose across his skin.

And then his arms were gone, and a hand on Draco’s back was pushing him back down onto the desk. He went without argument to his elbows again even though they were sore, because more than anything right now he needed to get off, needed Harry back inside him, to be so full he couldn’t breathe.

“Lift your leg,” Harry said, tapping his thigh, and with a tiny whimper Draco did as he was asked, bracing his knee on the desk next to his arm, spread out so obscenely for Harry in his own Hogwarts office that his cheeks stung with the delicious humiliation of it.

“I’d die if someone else had you, Draco,” said Harry, hands back at Draco’s waist, thumbing at one of his dimples. It was uttered like a statement of fact, like he just wanted Draco to know. Draco dropped his head and tried not to be overwhelmed. 

They’d been together five years and still he was taken off guard by Harry’s unique ability not only to break him down and force out of him his scariest, most vulnerable truths, but the way he could turn that back on himself. The way he faced his own emotions without fear and spoke in hyperboles that Draco suspected, from time to time, were not hyperboles at all. 

“No one else ever will,” said Draco softly. Harry lined up and sank back inside him, the angle better this time and pressing against his prostate. He stifled a moan into the crook of his elbow, jerking forward as Harry started thrusting. He filled all the achingly empty places inside Draco that he’d been stubbornly clinging to lately, a childish and petty revolt against a lack of attention, and deeper than that — scarier — a momentary uncertainty, a terrible, private doubt: could he handle this? Being with Harry Potter? Committing himself to someone he had to share with the whole Wizarding world, who would be busier than ever when he inevitably became Head Auror in a couple years?

And he realised now that he could — would _have_ to. Because whether they were fucking in his unlocked office or Harry was a million miles away saving everyone from a new Dark Lord, nobody filled Draco’s empty places the way Harry did.

“Harry,” Draco gasped, hands curling around the edge of the desk as Harry pistoned into him, throwing him against the hard wood and creating what would surely be bruises on his thigh later. “I’m gonna — I’m sorry, I can’t —”

As his body started tensing up, seconds from coming, Harry pulled out again. Draco let out a tormented sound and shuddered violently, shocked into a state of momentary speechlessness at having his orgasm torn away at the last second.

“Harry,” he choked out, “what —”

“Turn around,” he said, nudging Draco’s leg off the table. Draco obeyed shakily, stomach swooping when he finally got a good look at Harry’s face and saw everything he’d expected there, with all the unbearable intensity Draco had come to expect from him. Harry helped him up onto the desk and when he’d manoeuvred himself length-wise, Harry pulled him by the legs to the very edge. He was glad for this shift — he wanted to see Harry’s face.

He pushed inside again, meeting much less muscle resistance this time, and Draco kept himself propped on his shaky elbows so he could watch Harry. Harry watched his cock disappearing over and over again into Draco for a minute before lifting his gaze and meeting Draco’s, then bending forwards and kissing him.

“Say it again,” he requested in a whisper, and Draco didn’t need him to clarify.

“I’m yours,” he said, lifting a hand to cup the back of Harry’s head, fingers threading through his hair. “And you’re _mine_.”

Harry grunted, hips speeding up, his breath hot and fast in Draco’s face. His desperation was potent, his need for closeness, for reassurance, and Draco let him have it. He let Harry squeeze his thigh until it hurt and fuck him so hard he knew he wouldn’t sit tomorrow, until Harry was burying his face in Draco’s neck with a deep groan and coming hard. He felt Harry shake with the force of it and Draco barely even needed the hand he wrapped around himself to follow, splattering his own chest and Harry’s Auror robes with come.

He kept moving sluggishly even when Draco had dropped down onto the desk, stomach muscles twitching feebly. The movements slowed gradually and finally stopped, buried halfway. His face and neck gleamed with sweat. Draco glanced at the door, cheeks heating when he thought about how anyone could have walked in during that. How anyone could _still_ walk in and see _this_.

“Will you lock the door?” he said, breaking the silence. He wasn’t sure what to expect, but after a moment Harry grinned, waved a hand at the door, and Draco heard it lock. He sat up, and before he could ask Harry had taken out his wand this time and made Draco’s clothes reappear. “Harry,” he said, shifting a little, meeting his eyes with some difficulty, “I’m sorry for being a brat. For ignoring you all week. I didn’t — I’d never want you to feel like … like you have to worry about losing me. I really am utterly yours. You know that.”

He saw Harry swallow and then nod. “I know,” he said thickly. His hands were on Draco’s thighs, curled around the sides. Draco took one of them and twined their fingers together. “Is it too much?” he said quietly. “Are you sick of it finally, my job?”

“No,” said Draco immediately. He lifted his other hand to Harry’s face, his stubbled jaw he hadn’t bothered to shave lately, the faint dark circles beneath his eyes from lack of sleep. “I can handle it. I’ve just never been good at sharing, that’s all. And you know me … I do tantrums better than anyone.” Harry smiled and Draco kissed him. “I just miss you so much when you’re gone a lot.”

“Me too,” said Harry. “I make all those plans I have to cancel because I want it so badly, and _I’m_ sorry for putting you in a position so many times where I’ve had to cancel, it was selfish, I wasn’t thinking. But I promise, no matter how busy I get, I’m always gonna make time for you.”

“I know, Harry.” He kissed him again, his heart full and pleasantly heavy.

“And you don’t have to share me,” said Harry. “Not with anyone. I am utterly yours too, Draco. Even when I’m gone a lot.”

A sudden knock on the door made both of them jump and Draco let out a trembling laugh.

“Draco?” It was McGonagall’s voice. Draco frowned.

“Minerva?”

“Oh, you _are_ here still. Is Potter in there? He’s needed; Adrian said he saw him here last.”

“I’m here, Professor,” said Harry, hurriedly fixing himself up, running a hand through his hair, and going to open the door with his whole countenance shifted back to Auror mode. Draco hopped down from the desk lightly before McGonagall could see him sitting on it. “What’s going on?”

“Something down in Hogsmeade, from what I gather,” she said, and by her tone Draco could guess that she, like Harry, didn’t think there was much to worry about. “Your partner’s looking for you. You’ll find him in the Entrance Hall arguing with Argus.”

“Brilliant,” said Harry with a short laugh. “Thanks, Professor.”

She nodded at them both and left. Harry turned back to him and grinned sheepishly.

“Gotta go,” he said, sounding at once dorky and completely charming. "I'm sorry."

“Wake me when you get home,” said Draco. Harry smiled, and Draco was surprised to learn that he could still get butterflies.

“Oh, I will.”

“Good,” Draco laughed. “I’ll see you then.”

Harry pulled him in by the back of the neck, kissed him soundly, and was gone in another moment. Draco smiled to himself; around three in the morning, maybe four, he would wake to Harry’s wandering hands and insistent lips, and in that transcendent darkness of the early morning hours, with Harry smelling like sweat and adrenaline and maybe blood, it would feel religious when Harry fucked him and said _mine_.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me at [lazywonderlvnd.tumblr.com](https://lazywonderlvnd.tumblr.com/) ♡


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